It was to be performed by the village girls but Anyush would not take part. She had retreated to the shade with her grandmother to recover from her ordeal. The dance had only begun when the gendarmes made their move. The square was suddenly full of them, walking quickly towards the wedding party. They descended, guns drawn, on the table where the bride and groom and other family members were sitting. The leader of the group, a short, ginger-haired man, singled out Vardan’s father.
‘Mislav Aykanian … by the authority of the Empire and the Committee of Union and Progress you are under arrest for treason.’
Two gendarmes moved either side of the old man and lifted him bodily from the chair.
‘What? Wait … what are you doing?’ Vardan pushed past his bride to where his father was being dragged from the table. ‘That’s my father … he hasn’t done anything.’
‘He’s guilty of treason,’ the gendarme said.
‘Treason? No!’
‘Rifles, bayonets and two rounds of ammunition were found on his farm.’
‘We have no rifles. This is a mistake. My father owns nothing except hay forks and shovels. He’s never held a rifle in his life.’
‘Stand back or I’ll arrest you too.’
The old man hung limply between the hands that held him, his eyes wide with fear.
‘Take me,’ Vardan said. ‘Arrest me. It’s my farm too.’
The ginger-haired gendarme moved his face close to Vardan’s.
‘You have a job to finish on the police barracks. But don’t worry, when the time is right we’ll come looking.’
They marched away, half dragging the old man as Vardan ran after them.
‘He’s innocent. Where are you taking him? He’s innocent I swear!’
Dr Stewart caught Vardan by the arm.
‘There’s nothing you can do right now. Let me talk to them. We’ll find out where they have taken him and decide what to do from there.’
The square was eerily quiet. Anyush looked at Parzik. She was standing behind her husband, her face white with shock. Vardan had slumped into a chair, his head in his hands, weeping. Everything was in disarray. People looked helplessly at each other, not knowing what to do. Dr Stewart whispered something to his wife and then followed the gendarmes along the street. On the opposite side of the square, a laneway led down to the river and Anyush saw the captain and his lieutenant disappearing into it. Without thinking, she ran after them.
‘Efendim!’ she called. ‘Captain Orfalea!’
Both men turned around. The alley was dark and rank and not the place for a girl to be alone with Turkish soldiers.
‘Efendim, may I speak with you?’
‘Go on ahead,’ the captain said to the lieutenant. ‘I’ll follow.’
‘It’s old man Aykanian,’ Anyush said, struggling to find the right words. ‘The groom’s father … they’ve arrested him.’
‘Yes, I was watching.’
‘They won’t say where they’re bringing him, but it must be somewhere outside the village. It would mean a lot to … to Vardan and the family if you could find out where they have taken him.’
‘I can’t interfere with local policing.’
‘You have authority, efendim. More than any Armenian.’
‘We have no influence over the gendarmes. They are completely independent of us.’
‘You are someone they would respect, bayim.’
He shook his head and sighed. ‘We do occasionally hear things but I can’t promise you anything. I’ll keep my ears open. It’s the best I can do.’
‘Thank you, efendim. I am in your debt.’
‘Somehow I doubt that. Meet me in the ruined church in two days. Same time as before.’
She nodded and ran back to the square, hoping nobody had realised she was gone.
Diary of Dr Charles Stewart
Mushar
Trebizond
April 27th, 1915
I went to see the Vali in Trebizond today. It is Bairam, the Muslim feast day, so there is a better chance of catching him in a favourable mood. The gendarmes who arrested Mislav on the day of the wedding would give me no information about the old man, only that he was to be tried for treason, which leaves me no option but to appeal to the governor himself.
Since our first meeting that day on the quayside at Trebizond, the Vali and I have become friends. I have been summoned to the mansion at all hours of the day and night to tend to his bad teeth and, as I come through the walled garden, I hear him bellowing like a bull and cursing the giaour who takes so long to arrive. When he sees me at the gate, he becomes meek as a lamb, opening his mouth wide and begging me to pull out the rotten tooth. Once it is extracted and oil of clove administered, I am usually invited to join him for supper or breakfast, or whichever meal he feels he is at the lack of.
Despite outward appearances, the Vali is intelligent and well educated, a man who generally deals fairly with his subjects but can be capricious and ill-tempered. Remaining in his fickle favour is crucial to the smooth running of the hospital and is one of the reasons I am willing to ride for three hours in the middle of the night to look into his mouth. The Vali pays handsomely but also in kind. Disputes with the gendarmes are settled, permits come through relatively quickly and many other favours are granted to me. It takes only a discreet word and the problem magically disappears. The Vali is my lucky card, my ace to trump the many frustrations of living in the Empire. So I rode to Trebizond in an optimistic mood.
I arrived just as the cannon-fire announced that namaz, the morning prayers, were over and the Vali was ready to receive. In the great hall, I was ushered past the crowd waiting for an audience and brought to the Vali’s private quarters. He was seated at a low table finishing his morning meal.
‘Stippet, my friend,’ he said. ‘Selamın Aleyküm.’
‘Aleyküm Selam.’
‘Did I send for you? I did not think I sent for you. My new tooth is good. See.’
We discussed his new denture, which I had fitted on my last visit, before I mentioned that I was looking for a favour. He wagged his finger at me. ‘Stippet, you are looking to build again.’
I told him I had come about another matter and described the events of Vardan’s wedding day. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but then I realised there was a subtle but definite dimming in the brilliance of the Vali’s smile. ‘Aykanian is old and feeble,’ I said, begging for clemency, ‘just an ordinary farmer.’
But the Vali didn’t appear to be listening. He was playing with the ring on his hand, as though he had never noticed it there before. ‘If the gendarmes found rifles in his barn, then why should I think he is innocent?’ he asked.
‘Because I can vouch for him.’
‘Your word means much in Trebizond, my friend, but there are favours even I cannot grant.’
In all my time in the Empire I had never been refused before, so I decided to try a change of tactics. I told the Vali I knew he had the ear of the Sultan and wondered if there was another avenue of appeal I could pursue?
He regarded me coldly, then rearranged his expression into one of sorrowful regret. ‘Stippet, my friend, in certain cases where the Jendarma and the army are concerned I cannot interfere. Their orders come directly from Constantinople. Not from the Sultan but from the CUP. Now if this man was a Turk or caught stealing chickens perhaps I could do more.’
I should have guessed that the old Armenian question was at the bottom of this. The smallest whiff of sedition and Aykanian will be in real trouble. Of course, I have no way of knowing what the old man and his son are really involved in. The villagers are tribal and who knows where their allegiance lies?
The Vali pushed back his chair and his servant opened the door behind him.
‘Come back, my friend, when you are building your new wing.’
Anyush arrived long before the captain. Sitting inside the ruin, she had shelter from the wind and a view of the entire beach. In the days since the wedding noth
ing had been heard about old man Aykanian, and Parzik and Vardan were distraught. Dr Stewart and Meraijan Assadourian had approached the gendarmes for news of the old man’s whereabouts but had been told nothing. Nobody seemed to have anything to say about Mislav Aykanian.
Deep in thought, Anyush hadn’t noticed the captain standing in the doorway. At the sight of him her mouth went dry.
‘I have news,’ he said, coming inside. ‘But not what you’d like to hear.’
In the dim light of the old ruin, Anyush felt cornered, cut off from the brightness outside. The ruin was too remote and she wished she had not gone so far in.
‘They’ve taken him to Trebizond. To the city jail. It seems someone has spoken against him.’
‘An informer?’
‘Someone from the village. The gendarmes were acting on a tip-off. They were told to look for rifles and ammunition, and they found them under the floor of the hay barn.’
‘The only weapon Aykanian possesses is a sharp tongue.’
‘Well, it has made him enemies.’
‘No one in the village would betray him. Someone must have put those rifles there.’
‘What about his son … the groom? Who’s to say he’s not working for the Russians?’
‘Vardan only works at the shine on his boots.’
The captain laughed, the sound unnaturally loud in the circular space. He leaned against the wall, catching her glance towards the doorway.
‘So the groom’s a peacock then?’
‘He’s a farmer.’
‘The perfect cover.’
‘It wasn’t Vardan. He didn’t put rifles in the barn.’
In the silence that followed, the captain’s eyes never left Anyush’s face. They took liberties, those eyes, and she felt vulnerable and afraid. How had she thought it was safe to come here? To be alone with a Turkish officer? Deciding to bolt for the door, she took a quick step towards it.
‘Not so fast!’ He blocked her with his arm. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘You were talking to the lieutenant,’ she said. ‘I overheard you. He called you Captain Orfalea.’
‘Jahan. My name is Jahan.’
The sun had dipped in the sky, and there was now very little light inside the church. Only the soldier’s outline was visible in the halo of light behind him.
‘You haven’t been to the beach,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you there.’
‘Am I being watched?’
‘Of course not, but I was concerned. That I had made life difficult for you.’
‘No more difficult than dancing with a Turkish soldier.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘That did make you squirm but it was worth it to see the look on your face.’
‘In our village everything follows tradition, captain. There is no tradition I know of where soldiers flirt with village girls in full view of the elders. Especially one who dances as badly as you do.’
He smiled apologetically. ‘Mademoiselle … Anyush … if I ever have the honour of dancing with you again, I promise you will see a noticeable improvement.’
He dropped his arm and let her pass outside.
Dr Charles Stewart
Mushar
Trebizond
April 30th, 1915
Mr Henry Morgenthau
US Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire
Constantinople
Dear Henry,
I am very grateful to you for sending on Hetty’s parcels from Constantinople. It was with some disappointment we discovered, on opening them, that the ladies of the Illinois Mothers’ Circle have seen fit to send mufflers and mittens in this the hottest spring since our arrival. I would have been happier with seeds, or the smallest amount of filthy lucre, but no doubt next winter we’ll be glad of the woollens.
In answer to your enquiry regarding Hetty’s health, the hot dry weather has worked its seasonal cure on her bronchitis, and she is looking much the better for it. Her school is doing well and she has children attending from age six to fifteen of both sexes. A Turkish mudir has been recently appointed to oversee the running of the school and Hetty takes classes with him sitting silently at the back. He is obviously concerned that the children will be much too educated because he has removed most of the older boys to work on the railway and road gangs. Their poor mothers come to me hoping I can intervene, but my appeals have fallen on deaf ears. We are at war, I am told, and everybody has to play their part.
Your news of the arrest of prominent Armenians in Constantinople is disturbing, but I understand that city Armenians have become very politicised in recent years. This insurrection in Van is not helping their cause and a show of solidarity with the Empire would do much to improve the situation. I cannot help but think that Armenians have brought this on themselves, especially when everyone needs to concentrate on the war effort. Which leads to my reason for writing. Mislav Aykanian, an old farmer and native of the village, was recently arrested and taken to the jail in Trebizond. The gendarmes raided his farm and discovered rifles and a few rounds of ammunition. Treason is the charge, but a less likely insurgent you would be hard pressed to find. His son is young, and who knows what he may be involved in, but the old man is simply not capable of it. The authorities refused to say what they’re planning to do with him, though I have the impression the Vali knows more than he’s saying. There is no hope of influencing the authorities here to release him, so I wondered if you could do something from your end of things? Any effort on his behalf would be appreciated by the family who are extremely concerned. As always Hetty and I are grateful for your kindness in this, as in so many matters.
While on the subject of disturbances, I appreciate your concerns regarding our safety if, and indeed when, America joins the Allies, but there is no question of quitting the Empire. You understand, Henry, that there is too much at stake here. I am grateful that you have kept us abreast of developments, but Hetty and I are resolved to sit it out. In any event, I am certain that with America’s involvement the war will be concluded swiftly.
Next time we correspond, Henry, I hope the subject matter will be of a more pleasant nature.
Please extend our kind regards to Josephine and the children.
Yours sincerely,
Charles Stewart
The house was silent as Anyush came down the loft stairs. Above her head the joists creaked and grumbled in the morning sunshine, but the room below was quiet and still. Tiptoeing past her grandmother, she looked over at Khandut’s door. It was firmly shut. She let herself out to the garden and crossed the narrow road that led to the village. Turning away from the town, she passed the wood and walked in the direction of the coast. There was no mist in the fields or the hollows of the road, and the sun shone brilliantly on a sleepy-looking sea.
Beneath the headscarf her hair was warm from the sun, and Anyush tilted her face for a moment towards it. This was the perfect time of day, before the heat silenced the birds and blurred the line of dark green pines. She tried to think only of the morning air and the smell of the sea but found herself thinking about the captain, Jahan. In her mind’s eye, she was dancing the tamzara with him, his arm curled around her waist. She could recall the smell of his cologne, a mixture of pine-needles and wood-smoke. She remembered his eyes, dark with long lashes like a girl’s. And she couldn’t forget how it felt to be imprisoned by him and the way he had of looking at her. A hungry look that reminded her of Husik.
She reached the track to the shoreline and climbed down onto the old wadi bed, making her way along the stony bottom. The wadi eventually joined the long beach where she took the Stewart children, but a narrower course leading eastward from it cut down onto a smaller cove. The stones slipped under her feet as the trail fell steeply to sea level, and she scrabbled on all fours until she reached the pebbly shale dividing the sand from the land mass.
From where she was crouched, halfway down, she could see the entire length of the bay stretching away to the sandy dunes on the wes
tern end and the bulk of the cliff wall to the east. The tide had gone out, and the wet, tobacco-coloured sand was smooth and undisturbed. Anyush made her way to the water’s edge, where aside from the fly-strewn ribbons of kelp and the twiggy, criss-crossed pattern of gulls’ feet, nothing moved but the waves.
A light breeze flapped the tip of her scarf noisily as she walked along the shoreline to the stone steps in the cliff-face. The little hilltop circular church was as deserted as the beach below, and her footsteps echoed in the musty space. She inhaled deeply. There was nothing in the air except the smell of salt and damp.
Outside, past the leaning headstones at the edge of the cliff, the sea lay empty and green. Not so much as a fishing boat interrupted the skyline. She sat there for a time watching the sun cast its glittering net across the surface of the sea and the young seal which broke through the swell at the base of the cliff.
Her attention wandered. The same thoughts came back to her from the day of Parzik’s wedding. She pressed her palms against the hot skin of her cheeks and got to her feet. Gathering her skirts she left the clifftop and made her way down the steps and across the beach. The sand had begun to dry and filled her boots, so that she had to sit on a rock and empty them. Once they were laced again and the stray hairs tidied beneath her scarf, she started the steep climb along the river bed. She didn’t realise that one of her laces had come undone until she tripped and fell heavily onto her knees. A tear appeared in the fabric of her skirt and in the chemise underneath. Annoyed, she flung the offending rock all the way down to the beach below.
‘Are you in the habit of throwing things, or is it just for my benefit?’
Anyush Page 7